


White Chrysanthemums and Crimson Roses

by Nicxan



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Angst, Flowers, Gen, Haunting, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Possession, Spirits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26254480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicxan/pseuds/Nicxan
Summary: An Earth ghoul is desperate to revive Primo's glorious gardens.He's not the only one.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	White Chrysanthemums and Crimson Roses

The gardens used to be a point of pride for the abbey. While many plants were in the greenhouses, so many adorned the outside of the buildings, decorating the entire grounds with beautiful flora. The colors were bright and vibrant, catching everyone’s eyes as they passed by. The rose bushes were always the go-to option for a gift, and the flowers growing on the ground were the ones to get for bouquets.  
  
This had changed after Primo was killed.  
  
No one knew how to take care of the gardens like he did. After he had retired as Papa, Primo’s days were spent amongst his plants, watering them, trimming them, planting new ones into the ground ... they were all his pride and joy. He had a name for each and every one of them, talking to them fondly and treating them like his own children. It was something that Tor truly loved about the old man.  
  
There was so much love in these flowers and plants. Now, that love was gone.  
  
It happened slowly. People tried to maintain the gardens as best as they could, but it was trickier than they had thought. Plenty over-watered the plants. Some went neglected. People just started to give up when the flowers withered and died, the dead petals sullying the grounds with their decay.  
  
It was a sad sight. Tor felt his heart sink more and more each time he had to go outside, and eventually found himself intentionally avoiding where the gardens used to be. Copia had demanded that the greenhouses be dismantled and the plants discarded. While a ghoul wasn’t ever to question his Papa’s rule, he constantly asked himself ‘why’. It was a sign of beauty, a sign of nurture. Of care.  
  
Tor wanted to bring it back so badly. He tried to get the flowers back to their natural glory -- he really did. He did plenty of research in the library during his off hours, taking extensive notes on how to take care of every kind of plant that he had found. Some were too far gone, but surely he could save some of them.  
  
He’d try that night. It wasn’t ideal timing, but it would be less crowded and give him space to work. It would also mean he was less likely to be commanded to give it up. Receiving that order would break him. So, as painful as it was, he would wait.  
  
Tor could barely sit still as the hours passed. So many people were around, and then they weren’t. The Siblings were going to bed, and ghouls had free reign of the grounds for a few hours. This would be the time -- so much was riding on his actions, and it would start tonight.  
  
Tor didn’t even bother greeting his friends as he hightailed it down the stairs and to the grounds. He heard bewildered clicks, but paid no mind to them. He kept his gardening supplies in his arms, holding them tightly as he pushed open the door with his shoulder. The watering can nearly slipped out of his grip, but Tor was able to grab it and hold it steady.  
  
Lanterns lined the stone walls of the abbey outside, illuminating the main paths for the night owls. Tor could clearly see the dead flowers in the light, and his heart broke all over again. When would someone collect them and just ... do something? _Anything?_  
  
His mourning didn’t last long -- something caught his eye in the distance. Tor squinted and leaned forward, catching a glimpse of someone out in the gardens. They appeared to be walking over the flowers, which burned Tor’s blood.  
  
Wait. Were those ... were those papal vestments? They were absolutely wearing a mitre, too. What was Papa IV doing out here?  
  
Strange. But he couldn’t let Copia stop him; this was too important, and if he was asked, he would find some sort of excuse. Besides, he had finished with his duties for the day. Tor took a deep breath and walked into the sea of dead flowers, carefully stepping over the ones directly in his path. Tonight, he would be looking after some of the rose bushes and the chrysanthemums. Those were still fighting.  
  
First, it would be the rose bushes. The dead flowers haven’t been deadheaded, so they weren’t going to bloom new ones anytime soon. While Tor could just snap them -- Earth ghouls did have a tendency to make these things go _much_ smoother -- he wanted to be careful. Besides, Primo would have done it the more meticulous way.  
  
Tor set down his supplies, then picked up the pruners. He crouched down and began his work, pruning the dead blooms to the first five-leaf junctions. There were so many that had to be taken care of; there were at least fifteen dead roses that had to be pruned. As soon as they were all snipped off and disposed of, Tor grabbed the glue and began to cover the tips of the junctions.  
  
He was so lost in his work that he didn’t quite notice the heavy, suffocating air around him. Sure, he shivered from a brief cold, but it was probably just the wind. Tor had a job to do, and he wasn’t going to let anything distract him.  
  
Tor tipped the last junction with the glue, then staggered up to his feet. Standing suddenly seemed to be so difficult; he staggered somewhat. It felt like there was a massive weight on his back, something foreign. He tried to shrug it off as he moved further and further into the garden.  
  
Strangely enough, Papa wasn’t here. Odd -- there was no way out of this junction aside from just turning around and walking back. So where had he gone? Tor chewed at the question for a few seconds, trying to rack his brain, but didn’t come up with anything. He would have heard footsteps as he worked, and surely Papa would have said something.  
  
Tor shuddered as another cold wave passed through him. As quickly as he felt it, it was gone. It made him pause for a brief moment, hovering over the wilting chrysanthemums. He tried to shake it off. He had to honor Primo’s memory.  
  
Something was stopping him, though. Sorrow crushed him like a weight, making it hard to breathe. It didn’t feel like his sorrow -- it was someone else’s. Tor swallowed, gasped for air, and placed a hand on his chest.  
  
Any fear that he felt was washed away by the sensations of grief. His body collapsed, overwhelmed by the feelings. Tor didn’t know what was going on -- he felt fine! He had been fine earlier today, and his mind sure as hell felt fine now. So what was going on? Why was he sobbing openly on the ground next to the chrysanthemums?  
  
_‘I love these flowers so much,’_ came a thought. _‘I weep to see them mistreated so.’_  
  
It wasn’t his thought.  
  
_‘They were my pride and joy. You do not know how much time I spent taking care of them. They took my greenhouse, and now they allow my legacy to wilt away.’_  
  
“Primo?” Tor choked out. It felt like his presence, but that should be impossible. He was gone.  
  
Unless --  
  
More thoughts invaded Tor’s head. _‘My books were taken, shoved into the back wall of the library like they were useless trinkets. My notes are there, loose papers. All of my research is consolidated.’_  
  
Tor felt like his body was being drowned in a sea of anguish. He could barely keep his mind above water, but he clung so desperately to the information that the spirit was giving him. Back wall of the library. Books with loose papers inside. Probably some really thick ones too --  
  
_‘I will never be at peace,’_ said the spirit. _‘It escapes me and will continue to do so. But I will be at ease knowing that you -- and only you -- will be taking care of my gardens.’_  
  
The heavy presence lifted, leaving Tor a gasping, shuddering mess on the grass. He trembled, the fear that was repressed coming back full force. Tears streamed down his face -- once again, tears that surely weren’t his. He forced himself to sit up, looking around frantically for any trace of the spirit.  
  
Only the plants surrounded him; there wasn’t a soul in sight.  
  
Tor’s eyes were wide as he stared out into the space ahead of him. He couldn’t deny what he had just experienced, but it felt almost like a bad dream even so soon after. He turned to the chrysanthemums with new resolve. If Primo trusted him with this job, he would do it to the best of his ability.  
  
His legacy would not be forgotten -- Tor would make sure of that.  
  
The flowers would bloom again.


End file.
